


this shall be a sign unto you

by mellyflori



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Unrepentant Fluff, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8737543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: Bull folds his arms over his chest. “I said I was getting sick. I told you not to come near me. I told you to sleep in the guest room or go stay with Krem or the Boss.” He jabs a finger in Dorian’s direction and though he’s trying to scowl there’s a smile in his voice. “I gave you every opportunity to avoid this. I even told you I’d wash the sheets. It’s hardly my fault you’re too much of a softie to let me stew in my own germs for a few days."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fade_Writer13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fade_Writer13/gifts).



> This kind of sappy fluff was the perfect way to get started writing for the first time in a new fandom. Thanks for letting me take part!

“I just need some sleep, and I’ll be fine.” Dorian braces himself on the arm of the sofa, pretending he’s not trying to find the energy to stand up.

“You won’t be fine. You’ll be sneezing and coughing on everyone like you’ve been sneezing and coughing on me."

“I resent that accusation,” and it might have been more convincing if Dorian had been able to get through the entire sentence without a coughing fit. When he finishes, tears in his eyes, Bull is staring back at him. “This is your fault."

Bull folds his arms over his chest. “I said I was getting sick. I told you not to come near me. I told you to sleep in the guest room or go stay with Krem or the Boss.” He jabs a finger in Dorian’s direction and though he’s trying to scowl there’s a smile in his voice. “I gave you every opportunity to avoid this. I even told you I’d wash the sheets. It’s hardly my fault you’re too much of a softie to let me stew in my own germs for a few days."

“Don’t victim-blame, Bull. It’s unseemly.” He blows his nose into a tissue and tries to avoid catching sight of himself in the polished wood of the coffee table. Seeing his hair flat and his mustache limp is more than he can bear today. “Besides, you liked it."

“I loved it. Sexy man bringing me soup and orange juice. There was even that time when you offered me a sponge bath because every time I stood up I got dizzy. I’m gonna treasure that one forever."

“I was the most attentive nurse—"

“Even if you refused to wear that uniform."

“--the _most attentive nurse_  you could have asked for, and this is how you thank me. My head feels like there’s a band rehearsal in it and my eyes are watering, and my nose is so stuffed up I can’t taste food. Don’t make me miss Christmas, too."

“I’m calling Sera. If you get everyone there sick, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“But all the presents are already wra—“ the sneeze pops both of his ears and for one glorious second, for the first time in a day, Dorian can hear out both sides. Another bout of coughing clogs everything back up again.

Bull’s eyebrow goes up. “We’ll take them over when you get better. Unless something in there is going to spoil in the next day?"

Dorian’s “No,” is miserable. “I don’t want to stay home.”

Sinking to sit on the couch next to Dorian, Bull rubs one big hand up and down Dorian’s spine. He cups the back of Dorian’s neck. “Babe, half the time I can’t get you out of whatever pile of books you’re reading, but now you want to march over there and make everyone else sick. What gives?"

Dorian turns, burying his face in Bull’s shoulder. “This is different. This is Christmas. I helped pick out their tree and decorate it.” And everyone had let him. They’d teased him about needing to accessorize the tree the same way he accessorizes his outfits, but Dorian had firmly insisted that wasn’t the point. It’s not that he’s opposed to decking things out in their finery, _clearly_ , it’s just that he didn’t want them thinking this was all about the looks.

This year, his first year truly at home in his new life, in this place, he’d wanted to make his own traditions. With his ridiculous new family. With his ridiculous Bull.

“So it can be Christmas here." Bull sound so confident.

“How?” It's a piteous wail. “We knew we were going to be there, so we didn’t even bother getting a tree.” Dorian knows he' being petulant and unreasonable, but he’s *sick*, he shouldn’t have to be understanding.

He doesn’t say the rest. He doesn’t say that he’s mourning those memories he might have made. Then again, this is its own kind of memory, isn’t it? Perhaps instead of replacing years of stilted, awkward, formal holidays with his family and the people they were trying to impress with memories of holidays surrounded by friends, he can replace them with this, with Bull caring for him and quiet hours together. He sniffles and sighs.

Bull kisses Dorian on the head. “Why don’t I bring you some medicine and you can get some rest?”

Whatever Bull brings him tastes like berry-flavored chemical waste, but it does make him stop sneezing long enough to realize how exhausted he is. With the room empty except for the fire crackling in the fireplace and the sounds of Bull puttering in the kitchen, Dorian struggles to stay awake, but eventually loses.

 

His dreams are full of strange characters and ridiculous situations, but they’re ultimately harmless, until the last one. Dorian jerks awake, straight from a dream of him wandering through a life with no trace that Bull had ever been there, no trace that he’d ever existed. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Bull looking down at him.

“Hey, big guy.” Bull’s hand is cool against his forehead, and the rumble of his voice calms Dorian immediately. There’s a little part of him that still rebels at being so attached to another, at someone else being able to move his moods like this, but Bull has never abused it. Instead, he’s a loud, ridiculous, generous, unexpectedly sappy presence in Dorian’s life.

The ‘unexpectedly sappy’ part is on display when Dorian opens his eyes again and looks past Bull. In addition to the warm orange of the fire, there are circles of red and blue and green light on the walls. In the corner, standing straight and proud, is a Christmas tree. It’s nothing to put on a card, one chunk on the left is bare of branches, and it’s barely taller than Harding, but there are colored lights on it and a small stack of ornament boxes next to it, and it’s perfect.

“Where did that come from?” The coughing has made his voice sound harsher than normal, so he tries again. “It’s lovely, of course. How did it get here?”

Bull straightens the blanket over Dorian’s feet, and runs his fingers through Dorian’s hair. "I got it from the grocery store near the school. Last one they had.”

Dorian pulls back to stare at him, confused. “When?”

There’s another of those wonderful rumbling laughs. “While you were sleeping. You’ve been out for hours. I didn’t go far because I wanted to be here when you woke up, but I figured they might still have something and… yeah.” He’s looking down at his hands; Dorian reaches over to cover them with his own.

“It’s perfect. I adore it. I love it from the tip to the trunk. I even love the bare spot on the left.”

“It’s got a bare spot?” There’s laughter behind his voice. “Missed that, I guess. Here,” he reaches up and covers Dorian’s left eye. “Is that better?”

He doesn’t mean to sound haughty when he says, “Bull, that’s not how eyes _work_ ,” but he does anyway. It must be what Bull was hoping for because he laughs and kisses Dorian just to the left of his mustache.

“We can just put a patch over that part.” Bull shrugs. “Looks good on me.” Dorian rolls his eyes and winces. His head still hurts. “C’mon,” Bull says. “Go get a shower, it’ll make you feel better, and then we’ll decorate it just like those videos you pretend you don’t watch on youtube."

Dorian tries to look affronted, but he’s afraid it just comes off as guilty. He flicks a glance over at the pile of ornaments that are clearly the leftovers from decorating Sera’s tree.

Bull shrugs. He grins, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin. “Okay, maybe not *just* like them, but hey, there’ll be a tree, right? And presents.” He looks over at the tree again, then back down to where Dorian is still holding one of his hands. “I love you, and I know it’s not the Christmas you wanted—“

Dorian squeezes his hand. “Bull.” He hooks a finger into the neckline of Bull’s shirt and pulls him forward until their foreheads are touching. He could spin all kinds of fancy words, but when he opens his mouth what comes out is just the truth. “I love you, and it’s _exactly_ the Christmas I wanted.”

 


End file.
